


Intrusion

by animefreak



Category: Raven (1992)
Genre: F/M, Immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak/pseuds/animefreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Yuconovich story</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intrusion

Disclaimers: all things Raven are not mine. Not for profit, just for some good angsty fun.  
time: c. 1996  
place: Hawaii  
spoilers: not this time.  
rating: PG; Romance.

Intrusion

 

Jonathan Raven awoke from the usual set of nasty dreams in his usual manner. One moment he was reliving the slaying of Black Dragon Clan, the next he was awake. Something had intruded on his slumber. A sound? A waft of air movement? What was that?

He came to his feet in one smooth movement, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword even as he padded silently out of his bedroom and into the hallway. He paused, alert. Movement. He moved toward the living/dining/kitchen area of the house. A door scraped open and closed, very quietly, but not too quietly for him to hear.

He moved swiftly and silently across the dining area to the door leading out onto the patio area. The door was not quite closed, although it was locked. He pushed it open, following his instincts to find the cause of the disturbance in his house. His eyes searched the lush foliage that surrounded his back yard. He could hear the crash of the surf from the beach below the house, but nothing else.

Movement. The large leaves of a domestic banana tree had shifted slightly. There wasn't enough wind to account for it. He slid through the darkness, glad of the moonless night, and into the trees anticipating the rush of the attack, though not swiftly enough to keep from getting hit. Fists and feet lashed out at him. No weapon, no gunfire, no blade. Foolish.

He recovered swiftly as his attacker faded back into the foliage. Did the fool really think he'd give up just because someone else had landed the first blows? Sound. Raven frowned. It sounded as though someone had stopped for a snack. Recognition. The sound that awakened him was his refrigerator opening and closing.

He oriented on the sound and moved toward it. A short inventory of what he had in the refrigerator rolled through his mind. Not a lot. Fresh sushi. His foot touched something. He reached down and ran his fingers over a container. Yep. Sushi. He restrained a desire to laugh. All this for a midnight snack? A second sound caught his ear.

His sushi shouldn't have brought that on. He heard the sound of someone being ill. He stepped up behind the dark figure, a shadow within a shadow, hunched in the age-old stance of a human voiding its stomach contents. He reached out a hand to touch the other, whether to offer comfort or to catch, he never really knew.

The other reacted before he could make up his mind. Again he was under attack, but in this one he sensed desperation. The movements were not as fluid, as fast or as hard. He moved to subdue his opponent, grabbing for arms and torso holds and blocking most of the strikes. He found his opening and nearly lost it as he realized it was a woman he fought. He shut down his Western reactions and sought to put her out. After a few tense moments, he succeeded in getting the hold he needed, finding the nerve bundle at the side of the neck that controlled the flow of blood to the brain.

The body in his arms strained against him, fought to stay conscious, and lost the fight. From bowstring taut, she went completely limp. With ease, he put her over his shoulder, retrieved his sword and walked back to the house. Inside, he eased her down onto the floor before putting his sword away. He turned on the light as he walked back into the room.

He stopped in surprise. Her eyes had snapped open with the light. She scrambled into a crouch, squinting in the light. Either her pupils were completely dilated, or her eyes were very black. He could hear a shuddering intake of breath. She finally caught sight of him. Her face was pale under the dirt that streaked it. It got paler. He knew the old saw about turning white as a sheet, this was the first time he had witnessed the effect. Her eyes got darker. Pure terror contorted her face for a moment. She sank back to the floor, unconscious.

With every nerve alert, he approached the limp body. He prodded her gently with his foot. Nothing. He wasn't even certain she was breathing. He squatted down beside her, pulling her over onto her back. She was middle height, slender -- too slender, he could feel her ribs plainly as he ran his hands over her to determine if anything obvious was broken. Her cheekbones, under the dirt, were knife sharp. A little more flesh and she might be beautiful.

Her clothes were ragged in places, but of good quality. He pulled the shirt up and off to see if she had more damage than the obvious abrasions on her hands and bare feet. There were a surprising number of scars, some fairly new, but no holes, gouges or slashes. He stripped her out of the black jeans, discovering that underwear had not been of importance to her, and then carried her into the bedroom.

He frowned down at the frail looking figure as he pulled the sheets up over her. Why didn't he just call the police? Or someone? Because to call someone else was to never find out what was going on. He retreated to the doorway, sat down in a meditative posture and waited.

An hour passed in silence. Then she moaned as though she was in distress. He looked over at the bed. She was beginning to shift under the covers. She muttered softly to herself, negatives in a dozen languages. She kicked off the sheets, raising her arms as though to ward off blows. Her denials continued. He caught her wrists, holding her.

Her eyelids flew up revealing that her eyes were an improbable green. Contact lenses, why hadn't he -- that didn't make any sense. Who would have left her contact lenses with her while they held her captive? She stared at him in silence, all movement frozen.

"You're safe," he said softly, hoping the calm of his voice would penetrate.

Her lips stretched back from her teeth in a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, right," she agreed sarcastically. "Tell me another one."

"Why don't I ask you one? Who are you?"

The eyes flickered slightly. That was not the question she had been expecting. She opened her mouth to answer, probably sarcastically, and then shut it again. She regarded him steadily, but there was a touch of uncertainty in her regard. Silence. She took a shaky breath and shook her head slightly. "I don't think I have an answer to that," she finally told him. "Could I have my hands back, please?"

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then nodded as if satisfied with what he found there, and let her go. She rubbed her wrists where he had left fingerprints. She yawned, her eyelids drooping in spite of her desire to stay awake. She relaxed back into sleep as he watched.

He sighed as he realized he had once again take in a stray. He wondered who she was. He wondered what he was going to tell Ski. He decided to let the day take care of the answers as he settled down to wait for her to sleep herself out.  
Morning. Jonathan Raven dozed in the doorway of his bedroom. The woman on the bed stretched, opened her eyes and became unnaturally still. Her eyes focused on a ceiling that was unfamiliar. Black silk sheets. Vaguely oriental motifs decorating things, vaguely oriental feel to the furnishings, more Japanese than Mainland or Taiwan, or -- her mind listed the rest of the orient in alphabetical order and discarded all of it. She could hear birdsong. She could smell water, seawater. The salt tang on the warm air was puzzling.

She sat up and looked around. Unidentified male, mid thirties, lean, scarred, and a very light sleeper. He looked around, very dark eyes in a lightly tanned face meeting her gaze. Wary. He moved with precision as he came to his feet. Muscles rippled under skin. He wore lightweight pajama bottoms, loose enough to move in. He came to the side of the bed and crouched down again, bringing his head on a level with hers. She regarded him solemnly.

"Feeling better?"

There was a long pause before she answered him. "There's a temptation to say "Than what?". Uhm, probably. I seem to have something missing --"

"What?"

"Memory. A lot of memory," she responded, looking around the room again. Still felt Japanese. But in comparison to what? She returned her gaze to him. "OK, I hate to sound like some hokey movie, but I am gonna have to ask. Where am I?"

"My place."

Her eyes crinkled up slightly. "OK. Could you get a little less specific? Like, city? Continent? Planet?" She wondered where the sense of humor came from.

"Just outside Honolulu."

Her eyebrows winged upward. "Hawaii? All right, as far as I know there is only one Honolulu and it's on the big island of the chain we call Hawaii. How I got here -- Now that's another question all together."

"Where were you?"

Her mouth opened and started to make sound. She got one of those "I know this, I really do know this," looks on her face, swiftly followed by a "Then again, maybe not" looks as she closed her mouth. She seemed to consider this for a few moments, then looked directly into his eyes and admitted she hadn't a clue. "It'll come back to me -- it always does."

"What does?" he caught himself asking as he fought down the responding grin.

"The memories. Kinda like the relatives you moved away to lose, but they always find you?" The grin that had been hovering around the edges of her mouth finally broke through. He smiled back at her.

"Let me know when they do. You broke in last night, stole some sushi and didn't benefit by it."

She rubbed her stomach. "Yeah. Feels like I haven't eaten for a while. Wolfed it down, did I?"

"Yes."

"Euw."

He frowned at her. It was such an undistinguished thing to have said. She chuckled. "Don't hang out with a lot of teens, huh?"

"No. Do you?"

Again the hesitation, as though something was almost there, and gone. She shook her head and took notice of the condition of her hair. "To repeat myself, euw. Shower. Hot water. Soap. Shampoo?"

"Through there," he responded with a gesture and a nod of his head. So far, she seemed amnesiac but reasonable. He could afford to be gracious. He stood up, stretching muscles only a little annoyed by having sat up all night. If he was surprised when she slid out of bed and padded across the room to the indicated door without the slightest display of shocked modesty, he didn't show it.

She studied the faucet in the shower for a moment to decipher how it worked. Single handle models were tricky even with a full set of memories. Ah. Perfect. She stepped into the shower and closed the curtain behind her before losing herself in the ritual of getting clean, scrubbing away at the ingrained dirt on her hands and feet, and washing her hair until the last of the mats worked free. She stepped out as the hot water began to fade, wrapped a big, thirsty towel around her head to keep her hair from dripping as she roughly toweled off the rest of her body. She looked at herself in the mirror and laughed softly. Steamed mirror. Not very reflective.

She wiped down the mirror and took a good look at herself. Skinny. Anorexic. Hell, she wasn't certain she could spell anorexic. Green eyes. Green. Not blue. Not hazel. Not tints of all. Green. Bizarre. Hair black, and natural, from all appearances. She looked down her body. She could see scars. She traced several with her fingertips, trying to force memories to tell her what they were, who she was. Nothing.

She toweled her hair as dry as it was interested in getting, hung the towels up and realized that the towels were the only things in the bathroom. She had to have clothes somewhere. She wrapped a towel around her and padded back into the bedroom. A quick look around revealed no clothing that looked like hers. OK. T-shirts? No. Silky button fronts, big enough for two of her, yes. She snagged a shirt, buttoned it up and giggled. She looked like a little kid playing dress-up. Hmm. Pants all way too long. She wandered out of the room, having found a silk tie to turn into a belt.

Her host was not in the living room/dining room/kitchen. She looked around. Ah. Outside. He was going through the motions of a Kata with a wooden kendo sword. For just a moment, his face frozen in concentration, he frightened her. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in fear. Then he turned. On his back was a tattoo of a black Japanese dragon. She let the breath out and relaxed. Whoever it was she feared, he would not have borne a tattoo on his body. It just wasn't his style.

Jonathan opened his eyes as he faced the house again. For just a moment, he saw the tension in her. Then it was gone. He took a good look. She seemed to have appropriated one of his shirts. He gave her a smile. Not a full friendly one, but an encouraging one. She waited for him to come back to the house.

"Hungry."

"Yeah. At least, I think that's what all the ruckus down here is," she elaborated, pointing to her tummy.

He looked into his sparsely populated refrigerator and frowned. Juice. Fruit. Light and easily digestible. He set the items on the counter. He considered his options and opened cabinets. Rice, always good.

"Sushi?" she asked from entirely too close behind him. If she noted the complete motion freeze he entered, she said nothing.

"You didn't do well on it last night."

"Last night -- I don't remember a lot about last night, but I suspect I was less rational than I am now." She traced the bruise over his right cheekbone with a gentle finger. "I suspect I owe you an apology."

He flashed her a quick smile. "No. You weren't yourself."

She laughed at that. "Like I am now?"

"I phrased that badly."

She laughed again. "Trust me with a fruit knife?"

"Is that an offer to help?"

"Yes."

He handed her a small, very sharp knife and they worked silently together to prepare breakfast.

Afterward, she found that keeping her eyes open was becoming a chore. She straightened the bed and took a nap. A lengthy nap. Jonathan checked in on her from time to time, surprised at how deeply she slept, considering her apparent background. Halfway through the afternoon, she awoke with a lazy, cat-like stretch. She froze at full extension as she came fully awake, then eased back. She looked around curiously. Japanese, but not Japan. It took a moment before she remembered. Yes. Hawaii. And a man. She slid out of bed, visited the bathroom and then went looking for her host.

He was welcoming a big, graying man into the house. His voice soft, the other more loud spoken. Both men turned as they became aware of her. She frowned at the older man, as though trying to recall something. She walked forward slowly, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor.

"I know you -- I've seen you?"

Ski looked at his friend and back at the woman. A part of him wanted to break into a big smile and assure her that they very much knew each other. Yet there was a hint of danger here. Jonathan was sporting a bruise across his cheek that had not been there yesterday. Yet, she was wearing his shirt. That indicated a degree of intimacy. Or a lack of clothing, he corrected his thoughts.

He settled for a smile and a nod. "Have you?"

"Yes. But --" she frowned and made a dismissive gesture at his clothing. "Not so relaxed. More -- more -- I dunno?" she looked to the two men for a clue.

"Where?" Jonathan asked as he moved toward her, away from the door Ski was closing behind him.

"Not here?" she said with a laugh. "I know, not helpful. I wish -- sand. I get an impression of heat, dry, sand -- maybe a borderline desert -- dangerous --" She tried to focus her thoughts, then stopped with a shake of her head and a quick grin. "Useless, at the moment. It's just not coming. But I feel wonderful, except for the empty stomach and the equally empty head."

"Now that sounds like a hint, to me," Ski offered his opinion, looking very much the affable drunk he could be. The too green eyes flickered over him. Shit. That was one savvy lady. Saw right through him. Hmm. Well, two could play at that game. And where the hell could she have seen him before?

"No. That sounds like an outright plea. Starvation sets in. I could waste away right here if something isn't done very soon." The touch of a giggle belied the soulful, waiflike look she was trying for. "Y'know, neither one of you looks like you believe me." She let out a theatrical sigh and sank gracefully onto one of the large pillows Jonathan kept scattered about his floor. "Kim never believes me either," she groused.

"Kim?" Jonathan prodded lightly.

"Yeah, Kim. My -- my -- oh, shit," she ended ruefully as the vision of a laughing, feathery curl framed face faded out. "Damn. Almost had it. That is so frustrating."

"I believe I neglected to introduce myself. I'm Jonathan Raven. And that's Ski."

"Do you?"

"Do I what," Ski shot back, confused.

"Ski?"

"Naw."

"Good."

"Is it?" Jonathan inserted smoothly.

She grinned at him. "Yep. I don't seem to like snow. Not enough of it to ski in, anyway." She shivered eloquently. She wasn't certain what caused the reactions, but there was something about deep snow that bothered her profoundly. "Food?" she added plaintively.

"Food."

"Aw, not that stuff you keep feeding me," Ski complained. "She needs more than that. Lots of protein --"

"Last time I looked, raw fish had a lot of protein," she assured him impishly.

"And when was that?" the younger man's soft voice asked.

"Uh -- last night? Just before all that protein made me violently ill," she reminded him with a laugh.

Sharp. Very sharp. She knew Ski from somewhere. She knew enough martial arts to give him a hard time even when nearly unconscious on her feet. She was dangerous. Very dangerous. But not to him. Not now. He wondered how he knew this.

A light late lunch, early dinner took shape and was shared in companionable silence. For once, Ski's whiskey hoarse voice was stilled as he concentrated on eating and watching. The woman handled chopsticks with ease, and concentrated on eating as much as she could without overloading the system. Her memories might be gone, but her instincts were good.

Jonathan reached over and caught her wrist in his hand. His eyes were fixed on hers."What's your name."

Mouth open, almost --- nothing. "Good try." he pulse beat in her wrist was no more elevated than it should have been. "It'll come. Honest. Now, could I have my hand back?"

He released her. Her eyes flickered up and down, a faint frown crossing her brow. She knew something. She suspected? He would have to be careful. He left her alone to discuss Ski's latest information on the search for Jonathan's son. The two men stepped into the garden, near the carefully raked sand of his meditation space.

"Got yourself a live one."

"Maybe. Anything new?"

Ski shook his head. "Nope. Nothing today. Streets are remarkably quiet. Something’s up, but no one is saying anything."

"Up?"

"Yeah. Everything 's tense, but no one's pointing fingers. Or guns. Just tense. Strangest thing I've seen in a long time."

Jonathan grinned at his friend. "Yeah. And you've seen some pretty strange things."

"Yeah. Any ideas on the lady?" Ski jerked his head toward the house.

Jonathan shook his head in the negative. "No. She's professional quality as a fighter. If she hadn't been on the edge of exhaustion, I would have had to kill her."

"Great. But not after you. Not a dragon?"

"No indication. No tattoos, which would indicate not, I suspect."

"You sure?"

"Yes," he assured Ski.

Ski correctly interpreted the assurance. He whistled softly. "Sly dog."

"I was hardly going to put her to bed in muddy clothes."

"Oh, yeah. Right." It wasn't that Ski didn't believe him; just that Ski's worldview forced him to react that way.

The phone rang.

Jonathan walked back to the house to catch his guest answering the phone. The gesture was sufficiently absent minded looking to retain innocence.

"Hello? --- Hold on, he's -- " she turned to look and found herself nose to chest with her host. She grinned and looked up at him. "Right here."

She handed him the phone and stepped back, then walked into the bedroom. Privacy on the phone was important. Which didn't keep her from stopping just inside the room and listening carefully.

Just a friend of her host, apparently. A short, soft discussion and he rang off. Rang off? That sounded oddly British. British, Japanese -- where did all this esoteric information come from? And why did Raven's dark good looks set off alarm bells in her head. She closed her eyes and visualized his face. Long, lean, dark eyes, high cheekbones, dark hair -- the face in her mind shifted and changed. The eyes elongated slightly, the hair was starkly swept back, the smile lost its sweetness. Pain. Blinding, stab you in the head with a pickaxe pain surged through her head.

She wasn't aware of crying out as she grabbed at her head and folded to the floor. Jonathan was in the room and at her side before she hit the ground, catching her, carrying her to the bed and laying her gently down. Tears flowed from under her tightly shut eyelids. She curled into a tight ball; holding her hands to her temples as though she was worried her head might burst. Except for the first cry, she was silent.

She was barely aware of his hands on her, stroking, prodding, manipulating all the pressure points he could remember to help alleviate the pain he could see in her. The pounding spike began to recede. She took several deep, shaky breaths. A shudder ran through her. She turned to him, snaked her arms around him and held on while her breathing steadied and the world went back to normal.

"Damn. Sorry."

"For what?"

"Being -- a problem." She became aware of a sense of danger, of something monstrous that could touch this man's life and do major harm to him. She had to go. She pushed back from his comforting embrace. His hands and arms around her felt good. Human touch. She had a sense of deprivation at the thought. She looked up into his face and read concern with only a touch of reserve. She smiled a lopsided, engaging smile. "Talk about your unexpected migraine."

"That was not a migraine."

"No. It wasn't. But it is a good indication that there are things in my missing memory that might not be good for rescuers, children and other living things. I think it would be wise if we found me something to wear and let me go."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere but here," was the response. A part of her was saddened that he had not objected. There was something here, something that knew of the kind of -- game -- she played in. Still, he seemed to be out of the game. Dragging him back in, especially when she knew nothing of the current game, of him, would be unkind. She almost laughed. How many of her compatriots would even consider kindness a parameter of behavior? Not many.

"That doesn't sound like a plan."

"Plan, there ain't no plan," she quipped back in an Australian accent. Then she sobered. "Ok, maybe a small plan. I leave, you're out of whatever is going on, we don't - look - back." Damn. Looking into his eyes was dangerous. She could see so much there, so much he tried to protect, so much caring. Neither of them seemed to be surprised when their lips met, their arms tightening around each other.

Ski, reading the silence in the bedroom as a need for privacy, quietly let himself out of the front door and went to see if he could find out more about what was brewing on the streets.

Jonathan lay back against the pillows, his arm around the still nameless woman whose head was leaning against his chest, and wondered at the immense sense of well-being he felt. Her arm thrown possessively across him felt good. Her scent was warm and spicy, enticing. Her hair was silk. He ran lazy fingers through the strands. Her head came up, she grinned at him.

His smile was surprisingly sweet. His lovemaking was -- lovemaking. Wow. She longed to stay; just here, just now, yet they both knew this could not last. Oh, hell. She hoped he knew it could not last. She laid a gentle kiss on his lips, felt him respond and pulled back. "I still need clothes."

"I'll get you clothes."

He was as good as his word. He went out for an hour and came back with the basics of a wardrobe. She laughed as he unloaded box after box from his jeep.

"Uhm, did I really say wardrobe? Or just clothes."

He gave a shrug of his shoulders as if to say "there's a difference?" "I can afford it."

"I'll bet you can." She grabbed up a couple of boxes and headed for the bedroom. She came back out and struck a pose. "And just what did you have in mind?" The length of shimmering black fabric that comprised the slinky one shouldered dress was perfect. It fit like a second skin. It was slit nearly to the hip on one side. High heeled sandals completed the outfit.

"Now I can take you to dinner?" he shot back lightly. His eyes devoured her in a most satisfactory manner.

"Uh, huh. I don't suppose you managed denims and t-shirts while you were at it?"

"Yes." He had been through with his purchases when the items caught his eye. Denims, T-shirts, a leather vest and a pair of very expensive knee-high moccasin boots. The way her face lit up when she caught sight of the boots was more than enough reward.

"How the hell -- you're psychic, to boot, huh? Thank you!" She scooped up the items and headed for the bedroom again. She returned looking much more herself she suspected. The boots were silent on the wooden floor. She turned a pirouette for him. "Did you say dinner?"

"You changed."

"I refuse to go to the beach in heels."

"All right," he agreed with a laugh.

Dinner, a walk on the beach, silent exchanges. He had not felt so comfortable with a woman since -- since -- Aki. Had he fallen in love again? Perhaps. He was beginning to hope so. To be loved and to love. To have a woman at his side, a mother for his son? A lover for his bed, definitely. He drifted off to sleep, content.

He awoke to silence. He turned to look at her. He sat up. He moved out of bed and into the rest of the house. A pale square of paper sat on the table in the living room. Something infinitely cold from the depths of the void fastened itself to his heart as he picked it up.  
"It is far too dangerous to stay. I don't know what drives the game, but your life is too precious to hazard. When I know who I am, and what is what -- I will see you again." And at the very bottom: "Take care, beloved."

He crumpled the paper in his hand. How could he have trusted her? How could he have believed --? Damn the woman. Yet -- He uncrumpled the paper and stared at it. At the very bottom. Almost as though she had not wanted to say it. "Take care, beloved."

He carefully flattened the square of paper and folded it. He would keep this. Someday, he would find her and find out who she was, what game she played and if she was worthy of his regard. For now, he had other things to do. He frowned at the living room and the boxes strewn about it. Other things like returning several thousand dollars of women's clothing.

End


End file.
